


Turning Tables

by LyraNgalia



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dominance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Handcuffs, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Denial, Role Reversal, Sexual Content, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 12:00:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyraNgalia/pseuds/LyraNgalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sherlock Holmes seeks to turn the tables on Irene Adler in what she knows best...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turning Tables

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [hugh-dancy-dance](http://hugh-dancy-dance.tumblr.com/) over on Tumblr, who asked for a fic with the prompt "Sherlock dominates Irene. It’s very rough but also pleasing. The aftercare is is adorably sweet and tender."
> 
> I'm not sure I got _quite_ what you were looking for, as Sherlock and Irene (predictably) had their own ideas, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

She is not at all surprised that he would take to this experiment with the same singlemindedness that he took to his cases, to his science experiments. She is, however, surprised by how quickly he'd allowed himself to shed the the dispassionate veneer. She would have liked to have the ability to consider it further, to dissect the way his cold clinical air had fallen away like his coat to reveal smug intensity that nevertheless made it obvious that he was enjoying _himself._ But he was between her legs, his long dexterous fingers restless and demanding as he drove her relentlessly towards the edge, and Irene found herself having very little ability to do much of anything at all besides strain against the cuffs that lashed her wrists to the headboard and keep herself from actually begging.

“You'll pay for this, you realize,” she told him, her voice breathless and wanting as she fought to keep her hips from arching up to give him better access. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, smudging the blood red lipstick, and tried not to cry out as he brought her to the edge of orgasm only to still his fingers, to withdraw until there was nothing but the featherlight pressure of his fingertip against her clit.

“I've no doubt. You'd enjoy it, I expect.” he answered. She could _hear_ the smirk in his voice, knew that it was there specifically to goad her, and it made her pull tighter against the cuffs, the velvet lining keeping the bonds from leaving too deep a mark. A warm breath on the soft swell of her stomach, and she craned her head just in time to see him lean down again, his mouth working slowly down her torso, and Irene gasped as his teeth nipped soft skin.

“So would you,” she retorted, when she could speak again, though the words are promptly lost in another gasp as she felt the tip of his tongue teasing her.

His words were conversational, but the grip of his fingers against her hips, holding her there, and the heat of his skin against hers, told Irene far more. She strained against his hands and the cuffs wrenching her arms above her head, and she felt him smile against her thigh. “How many is it so far?”

“ _Four,_ ” she ground out, her body aching for the orgasm four times denied, and the part of her brain that was not focused on precisely what his tongue is _not_ doing is focused on how she could repay him. Just the handcuffs would be nowhere _near_ enough in return.

His tongue delved into her, then teased against her clitoris again, and even the thought of revenge momentarily fled her mind. “Care to make it five?”

“Don't you _dare_ ,” she growled, her eyes glinting with fire even as she arched helplessly into his touch. She was so _close,_ and he was absolutely insufferable. It was, admittedly, brilliant. “I am going to leave you naked and bound on the Tube, with a note pinned to your chest for your brother.”

He laughed, the sound a low hum skittering across sensitive, receptive skin, and Irene cried out despite herself. “I'd like to see you try.” Another lingering kiss that was precisely just shy of enough to tip her over the edge into orgasm, and she strained against him, his nails digging into her hips as he forced her still. “You know exactly how to get what you want.”

She growled, and was about to tell him in no uncertain terms that he had another thing coming, when he scraped his teeth against her clit, and another wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure shot up her spine, leaving her quivering at the edge of the precipice again. Before she could even think, the word was out of her mouth.

 

“ _Please_.”

 

She felt him clench at the single, breathless word, felt his fingers tighten on her hips, no doubt leaving bruises. The knowledge that her wanting plea affected him as much as his ministrations had affected her sent Irene tumbling over the edge, her body shaking like a plucked violin string as her long denied orgasm washed over her, as pleasure and fire seemed to scour her nerves, and she fell back boneless, her own cry echoing in her ears, to the sight of him watching her still, his own arousal painfully obvious, his pupils dilated with desire.

She wanted nothing more than to lie back, but instead she tugged her wrists, the cuffs rattling against the headboard as she did so. “Traditionally now would be the time you unbind me,” she said, arching an eyebrow at him. The instructions seemed to shake him out of his daze, his eyes still watching her, as if to memorize her as she was (though he'd said a thousand times that he'd memorized every inch of her since their first meeting), and he moved obediently upwards, stretching his body along the length of hers to reach the cuffs.

Irene smiled at that and waited until his fingers undid the knot holding the cuffs to the headboard before she shifted, pressing her flushed skin against his, her legs wrapping around his waist. His erection brushed against her thigh, and she felt it twitch at the unexpected sensation. She shifted again, the friction of skin against skin, and met his eye. Her lips curled into a sharp, pleased smile despite her momentary exhaustion, and she purred against him, still breathless, “Now, Mr. Holmes.”

He jerked in surprise a split second before his body went rigid with the force of his own orgasm, and Irene's smile deepened, endorphins pleasantly swimming through her veins, twining with the heady feeling of being _right._ He cried out, his lips pressed against her temple, his body trembling against hers, before he slumped boneless on top of her. She felt his heartbeat racing, and after a long moment, tugged herself up enough to press a kiss to his forehead.

He stirred, his eyes glassy and almost stunned, as he tried to focus on her face, and she smirked, smug. “You should have expected it.”

He blinked twice, shook his head once, and blinked again, focus coming back into his eyes. “Yes, but I was still right about the boy's father on trash telly.”

 


End file.
